Standing at the bus stop for more than three minutes can agitate me; I tremble with rage as the intrusive wind kisses my skin. Though I've heard this song at least a thousand times, I refuse to change it because my fingers are blue and broken. The bus is rarely late, and if it is, I've predicted it to be because of poor weather conditions. Nonetheless, I'm basically internally screaming because yes, the cold is that bad.
I've never been a fan of the cold--which, I guess, is odd given the fact that I go to school in the north, north-east-literally, Canada is only an hour away. I remember when I was a little kid and my mom would pester me to make a snowman. I tried, trust me-I really did, but I was always defeated by the cold and compelled by the idea of hot chocolate to the point that I would eventually whimper, kick the snow, and return to the comfort of being inside. Now, I don't even think of putting my snow pants on because a snowman is no longer worth the pain and suffering.
So this brings me to my thought: is ignorance bliss? I've heard this saying multiple times from friends, my dad-but, I've never scrutinized it before attending college in a snow-smothered, arctic place. As a child, I could bear the cold, not forever, but definitely more so than I do now. I would lie in the snow, as if it were a bed, and make angels--their silhouettes always interrupted by my enormous snow boots (I never actually complained about the size of my boots, so my parents never bought me new ones). I would wander the winter wo nderland in my back yard; the snow, though heavy, would just lightly tap the branches. I would stare in amazement, just watching.
And I would eat the snow. Oh, I would consume it as though I had been starved for weeks! I remember mixing it once, with grape juice, and proudly calling it a "Cool Smoothie" right before devouring it. Now, though, I walk beside the snow, almost ignoring it, because I know that eating it is probably one, unsafe given the unknown pollutants in the air and two, I feel as though encountering someone my age eating snow would just be an odd sight to see.
So, this is where ignorance comes into play: I don't enjoy the snow because it is cold and I do not eat the snow because of what others might think of me. One is expected while the other is silly, you see? The snow was not as annoying when I was a kid because I simply forgot it was cold; now, however, whenever I see snow I automatically associate it with the excruciating agony of standing outside. And when I was a kid I would always take 'snow-breaks', for a lack of a better term, while sledding, consuming the snow like a rabid beast (I guess for a lack of an even better term). Perhaps I should start looking at the beauty of snow rather than clumping it with my preconceived notion that snow equals discomfort, and, while I'm at it, maybe even sneak a bite, without a care in the world for who judges me (but no, I refuse to eat the yellow snow, so don't even think about trying to convince me to do that).